Author: Noxrider
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Destined to Serve: The Tale of Noxrider.
I, Andrew McConnaughy, grew up in a monastery in northern Scotland, home to the Order of St. Michael, patron of service. I was an orphan, but I never dwelt on my origin much. The brothers of the order were kind, and their genuine concern for my life, as well as those in surrounding communities, provided a warm, loving family that filled me with a sense of belonging and purpose. Someday, the brothers chimed often, I would be welcome to remain among them, if that was my choice.
I continued my education faithfully within the Order, and waited with anticipation for my eighteenth birthday--and finally, to become an ordained brother, alongside those who would be my family. Each day saw the building of excited emotions as preparation were made for my ordaining rituals.
But my nights gradually became more and more stressful. I slept, but fitfully; strange visions began to haunt my sleep. Each night’s rest was filled with one scene after another of someone similar to myself, but changed: pale, adorned in pitch-black leather, with glowing red eyes full of hatred for human life. The shadowy figure would draw forth a bright silvery sword, plunge it into the heart of a terrified person, and then, as if he were looking directly at me, a sinister grin would turn the corners of his gaunt cheeks.
Two weeks passed, and the visions continued. Frightened, I turned to Brother Charles, my confessor and confidante. I recalled the nightmares, and knelt penitently before him, begging for some means of casting these odd ideas aside. He promised that he would consult the other brethren and determine what, if anything, could have caused this inner turmoil, and find a means to cast it aside.
After finishing my chores for a Wednesday afternoon, I walked into my cell, only to find that my few belongings had been packed for me. The brothers, baffled by my situation, asked me to leave. Well, not exactly asked, I suppose. Charles kindly offered his best blessings and prayers, and suggested some places in a nearby city where I could find work and shelter. To me, his lukewarm well-wishing was a tactic to assuage himself of his guilt.
Nearly penniless, fraught with the pressures of finding a place to belong, fate led me to a motorcycle club filled with some of the dregs of society, a club of men who called themselves the Shadows. Bo, the club leader, seemed to notice some unknown quality in my story that made me a candidate for prospecting. Gradually, he chiseled away at my conscience, offering insights that forced me to question all I had considered right and good. Before long, the club’s loyalty to my well-being gave me exactly what I had experienced at St. Michael’s—but this time, with all the hedonistic pleasures that come with a life of a hell-spawned biker--drinking, lechery, fighting, even trying a dose a drug they called Superadine. For so long, I had deprived myself of those, and for what? To remain devoted to a cause that had no place for me?
I moved into the apartment building where most of the club lived, sleeping each day, riding and cavorting about at night, doing whatever the other guys were doing. Before long, mere boyish antics weren’t enough. I became a vandal, a thief, a drug-pusher, (and, quite proudly, a charmer of young ladies, most of whom held my interest for a night or even less.) With each seized opportunity for menace, the men I’d befriended admired me more and more. Each time I looked into the mirror, I became more pleased with who I’d become. I was a snappy dresser, for a biker—black leathers and boots, barbed-wire necklace (‘cause I was just that tough), tight-fitting black gloves, roughened by weeks of riding in the cool night wind. As for money, I never needed much more than what I could nab in my next theft or drug deal. If I ever did, my mischievously sheepish grin could convince my brothers, or some unsuspecting one-night paramour, to provide me with all I desired. I was irresistible, and I knew it. And best of all, I had people who encouraged me in every dark step along the path.
One night, Bo asked me over to his place for a few beers. W had a long talk about what it meant to be a “brother” -- commitment, loyalty, and a willingness to do anything for a another brother. Everything he said made perfect sense; I was a product of that same dedication, at least, in theory.
We walked into the building’s cellar and I was shocked to see that it was a huge basement furnished with the trappings of a church. What set this apart, though, were the statues of agonized men and women, intermingled with others of dark creatures, including a huge, winged gargoyle-like demon. Bo explained that he and many in the club were disciples of a demon trapped between this world and another—a demon whose name, loosely translated, was The Shadow. Their cause: to wreak chaos in this world in His name until the day when he would be freed, turning the world to eternal Darkness. In the meantime, He would grant powers to those who would offer their souls to Him.
In all my time with Bo and the gang, I’m not sure I remember many of the things he said, but I do remember him saying, This is your chance, Drew. You can be one of us. Not just a guy on the side, really a brother. We’d do anything for you, Drew, and we know that you want to be so much more.
Slowly, Bo approached the main altar of the underground temple, and picked up a beautifully crafted, sleek, silver sword. He admired it, and asked me to take it. As I touched its hilt, it whispered sweet seductions intended just for me. I’d used a knife to fight before, and occasionally carried a pistol, but this weapon was…exquisite.
Meanwhile, Bo had walked into an antechamber, and called for me to follow him. Not letting the sword fall from my hand, I stepped through the small door. Inside, tied to a stone column, was Charles, my former confessor, gagged and attempting to scream. Bo stepped beside me, smiled, and continued:
I know where you belong, Drew. HE knows you want to belong. And most of all, The Shadow knows that you belong.
My hands began to shake uncontrollably, a shiver running down my spine. Charles’ eyes looked directly into mine, begging for something between freedom and forgiveness.
He’s the one, Drew. He could have helped you before, but he didn’t. Sure, now he’s sorry—that’s easy, once you realize your actions have a price.
With each moment, my resolve weakened, shifted, and grew angrier. I was torn between what I had been and the possibility of what I could become.
Take what’s yours, Drew. You deserved better; now, you can have it. See? You can do it, even with your eyes closed!
So, that’s what I did. I pulled the sword back full, closed my eyes, and thrust hard toward where I knew Charles was. The sword practically leapt into his heart, and suddenly, my eyes popped open and locked onto my victim. A strange feeling overwhelmed me, as though his soul was pulled into mine; then, the current of energy reversed, as if both of our souls flowed back out of the tip of the blade. Finally, a surge of ecstasy coursed into my body, driving me to unconsciousness.
I must have been out cold for quite awhile, because someone had removed my jacket; the silver sword, still stained with Charles’ blood, rested beside me. I staggered to my feet, took up the sword, calling with the voice that I knew belonged to my new Master:
[/i]This weapon, Soulrogue, is yours; and you are no longer Drew McConnaughy, but my disciple, my son. You are…Noxrider, my personal hand of death.[/i]
The weight of those words bore down on my entire body, not with burden, but with promise. I felt different: stronger, faster, more…aware. I watched as my skin became ashen, then my whole body, including my clothing, became translucent, almost…invisible.
Bo returned to the chamber, carrying a new leather motorcycle jacket, sporting a red crescent moon on the front, and the club logo on the back. He handed it to me, and I fit myself into it. “Greetings, Nox. Welcome to the Sons of Shadow…brother.”
Thus, I began my new life, my purpose unchanged: a life of servitude. Now, though, my focus was altered; I would serve myself by working my Master’s will and encouraging others to do the same. Eventually, I discovered that I was my Master’s half-demon son, and became the leader of our unholy Order. Let the world tremble as I continue my life of service…
Fin
Noxrider, Leader, Sons of Shadow VG, Pinnacle Server
Level 50 Ninja Blade/Ninjitsu Stalker
Completed: 6/20/07
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